


in the water, I see...

by Icej



Series: Sharing Tongues [5]
Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Clan Culture, Clan life, F/M, Fish, Games, Guessing Games, Rituals, RiverClan, wordbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-09 13:33:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20995634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icej/pseuds/Icej
Summary: “Sleetstream.”“Streampaw?”She growled. “Don’t try to get smart on me, Sleetstream.”





	in the water, I see...

**Author's Note:**

> Two Riverclan cats flirt.

“In the water, I see… a great beast with a pale belly and a back as dark as wet bark—a great beast with as many spots as there are stars in the sky, and black fins and—“

“Easy,” interrupted Streampaw. “A trout.”

Sleetstream glowered at the apprentice. “It could have been a leopard.”

“With _fins?_”

“I have to say, Streampaw—your lack of imagination is severely disappointing.”

Streampaw chuffed. She bent over the water, and so did he; the stream was shallow, so shallow they could see how the rock bed glimmered in the dawn light. “In the water, I see… a brown bird with a small, sharp beak, black eyes, yellow legs, smooth wings, and a jutting tail… I see a bird with a white belly, flecked with brown…” She trailed off, looking at him pointedly.

Sleetstram sat back. “You know I’m bad with land animals,” he accused.

“Technically, birds aren’t land animals,” she said. “They can fly.”

“Why, thank you. I didn’t know _birds flew_.”

“Well I'm sorry to break it to you but I had to tell you the truth.”

He didn’t reply immediately but rather turned to observe her. She sat with her back to the sun, her shoulders hunched, and the morning light played along her small ears, threading her fur with silver. Her face was plunged in shadow. She had rolled into the flowers of a butterfly tree before coming to meet him, and crushed petals clung to the fur on her back. He felt a surge of emotion and decided to cuff her over the head.

“Ow!”

“In the water, I see…” 

“Sleetstream!”

“Yes?”

“You attacked me!”

He flicked his tail. “That’s quite a grave accusation, Streampaw,” he said, trying to mask his amusement. It didn’t work. He tried for a sad voice. “It’s hurting my feelings that you would consider me capable of assault—“

She clawed at him. Sleetstream sidestepped. They stared at each other for a heartbeat before Sleetstream decided to break eye contact. 

“A song thrush,” said Streampaw. “The answer was a song thrush.”

He scoffed. “I bet they don’t exist.”

“You ate one just before going out for patrol last night!”

“I stand by what I said.” 

“Sleetstream…”

He blinked innocently. “Streampaw?”

“In the water, I see…”

“In the water, I see a small silver creature,” said the warrior. “It has a long body, slender like a cherry leaf, and small fins that you can see through. Its eyes are big and rimmed with yellow; some of its fins are grey, some are pink like your nose; the scales on its back darken like smoke…”

“A silver minnow?” tried Streampaw. She seemed unimpressed.

“No,” answered Sleetstream, feeling faintly offended. “I wouldn’t go for something so _basic_.”

“Trouts are basic.”

“Trouts are—_excuse me_,” he spluttered. “Trouts are big and plump and have cute freckles. Trouts are _beautiful_.”

“Nobody thinks that! You’re obsessed with fish.”

“We’re Riverclan cats,” he informed her.

“I know, but I still think you’re crossing a line here.”

“If you’re not too busy judging me, maybe you can try guessing the answer?”

“No.” She stuck out her tongue.

“Why?” he asked, baffled. “It’s a game. You have to guess. Or think of something.”

“But I don’t want to.”

“Guess or think?”

“Guess.”

“Because I’m sure you’re quite capable of thinking...”

“I said _guess_.”

“... maybe not all the time..".

“Sleetstream.”

"... but at least occasionally.”

“_Sleetstream._”

“Streampaw?”

She growled. “Don’t try to get smart on me, Sleetstream.”

He purred. The sun was hitting Streampaw’s forehead, now, and he could see her frustrated expression, her dilated pupils. He leaned toward her face, rubbing his cheek along hers, and whispered: “Never. I’m always stupid with you.”

“Don’t limit yourself. You’re stupid with everyone,” she quipped, biting at his neck. 

He pushed her away with his forepaws. “You’re making me sound unfaithful.” She made a face. He peered down at her.

“In the water, I see a beautiful—“

“Me! I’m beautiful.”

“I was going to say _trout_.”

Her yellow eyes flashed. “In the water,’ she growled, ‘I see a tall cat, with freakishly long legs and weirdly short fur, and very pointy ears, and a thin tail like an eel, and he’s all hard angles and has a jutting spine—“

“Very flattering,” said Sleetstream.

“Yes, well, I tried to be accurate. Faithful to what I see in the water.”

Sleetstream snorted. “In the water, I see an annoying little apprentice.” He paused. “The apprentice who traitorously pushed me into the river-by-the-oak two moons ago.”

Streampaw huffed. “In the water, I see the dumbass who fell off a dry and _flat_ rock two moons ago.”

“In the water, I see the idiot who picked a fight with a bigger Skyclan cat at her first gathering,” retorted Sleetstream.

“In the water, I see the sniveling coward who reported me to senior warriors,” sniffed Streampaw.

“Someone had to put a stop to your nefarious deeds,” he said. “In the water, I see a young troublemaker who should really listen to her elders, including _me_—“

“Yeah, sure, _you’re_ an elder,” scoffed Streampaw. “You haven’t been a warrior for a moon.” 

“And you won’t be a warrior for another quarter-moon, so show some respect.”

She looked affronted. “I refuse to respect you.”

“That doesn’t sound like a good idea. You might want to rethink that. Just some friendly advice.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Friendly advice from a _clan warrior_.”

“What kind of warrior walks out of the dawn patrol to play games with an apprentice?” wondered Streampaw.

“What kind of apprentice sneaks away from camp to flirt with a warrior?” countered Sleetstream.

She trilled. “The kind that likes making trouble, I’d expect.”

He looked at her then, at her Greenleaf-round curves and her thick, soft fur. Her tail looked like it was spun out of willow leaves. 

“Streampaw?” 

She blinked. “Sleetstream?”

“How far along are you on your cycle?” he asked, more softly this time.

“Kit-time will not come before the half-moon,” she assured him. 

He nuzzled her. She rolled over, exposing her soft stomach, and carefully folded her little paws so that he could touch her flesh. He caressed her, purring, and she purred in turn. Then, ever so slowly, he pulled away from her.

She looked up, confused. "What...?"

“Chub,” he told her very seriously. There was a beat of silence. “The answer to the riddle was the silver river chub." Her eyes flashed. He felt the need to take a step back, still talking: "not at all—“ and she growled, kicking out to scratch him—“like a minnow.”

He pinned her haunches to the mossy bank with his forepaws and whooped victoriously. “Know your fish!”


End file.
